


Victory and Destiny

by CeridwenofWales



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adoption, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Death Threats, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Non-Canon Relationship, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-10 08:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12907974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeridwenofWales/pseuds/CeridwenofWales
Summary: I thought about an alternate scenario for what happened in the Church. There are many theories about Ivar. One of them is that he had an illegitimate son and no wife. I'm sticking with this theory here and Ivar using the child and the mother as hostages.The meaning ofSigtryggname is interesting to understand what Ivar was thinking as he renamed the baby:Sigtrygg (Sigtryggr) is an Old Norse given name, composed of the elements sig "victory" and trygg "trusty, true".





	1. Chapter 1

 

* * *

 

 

 

His mother would be proud him. He was becoming the great warrior she promised he would. Ivar would prove to the world that he should not be pitied, but feared. Sigurd was right when he shouted Aslaug was the only woman that loved him, but Ivar did not care. He was not searching for love or happiness. He wanted people to scream his name in horror as his army advanced.

 

Ivar was frustrated that taking York was so easy. He would improve the city's defenses to be his stronghold, from where he would launch ships filled with the most loyal warriors to smash kingdoms that thought they would be eternal. His accomplishments might not last as he would never have heirs to pass them on, but his name would be the synonym of terror as long as men had tongues.

 

Crawling inside the church and seeing the blood was putting him in frenzy. His legs would not make him stay behind with the women and the elderly while the warriors fought. Ivar would not be the son of Ragnar hidden as a mark of shame. He would be the most famous and respected among them.

 

Whenever Ivar found a victim agonizing, he finished the suffering.

 

_It is what the Christians call mercy, isn't it?_

 

Soaking his armor with the blood that was covering the ground was making Ivar forget the soreness in his muscles. The crimson fluid was calling for him. But a different shade of red attracted his attention. Red hair as Aslaug’s and a high-pitched cry called for him as he, so many times, called for Aslaug when he was howling in pain. He stopped to find the source of the sound.

 

A woman was curled in a corner, trying to calm a baby in her arms. She was whispering to the little bundle in her arms, ignoring the screams around her. It was like a memory of his mother trying everything to ease his pain. The baby stopped squealing and she kissed its forehead. A gesture Ivar did not realize he missed until now. He avenged his father, but it did not fill the hole swallowing any trace of humanity he had left. His mother's murderer was still alive and sitting on the throne that should be his.

 

_Not for long!_

 

 _Will I be whole once I take Lagertha’s life?_ Ivar shook his head to stop the foolish thoughts.

 

The woman smiled at the sleeping baby and lifted her teary eyes, trying to find a route to escape. She gasped when her eyes found icy blue ones returning her gaze. Ivar grinned, making his way to them through the bloody corpses covering the floor.

 

Ivar was surprised she did not scream. He did not register the sounds around him. He just wanted to reach her. Ivar judged she was a noble by the clothes and jewelry she was wearing, and he wondered if she was born as a princess like his mother.

 

“Please!” she whispered when he was closer.

 

_They always beg to live. So pathetic._

 

“Please, do not hurt my son!” she was holding the baby tight against her chest as if her body could work as a shield. Her fierceness could match Aslaug’s courage when she defied Ragnar and saved him. He was intrigued to find someone brave among the lambs his warriors just cut down.

 

“Are you not afraid for yourself?” Ivar chuckled, and she wiped away her tears.

 

“My fate is not in my hands and a mother only begs for her children for they do not have a way to plead for themselves.” The woman did not flinch seeing Ivar's face covered in blood.

 

Ivar tilted his head, sitting before this strange woman. He wanted to test how far she would go to protect her baby. He kept twirling his weapon between his fingers, his eyes never leaving her face, “What is your name, woman?”

 

“I am Edyff. Princess of East Anglia and wife to Burgred of Mercia.” The woman whispered proudly, but Ivar noticed she took a deep breath as her eyes fixed on a man’s body behind Ivar. He grinned, thinking this woman was far braver than any of the soldiers he and his brothers found on their way.

 

“I think your husband cannot do anything to protect you anymore.” He chuckled, seeing her distress, “Are you a Princess then? I am a Prince too, but I want to be a King. A King in your land and in many other territories.” Ivar raised his eyebrows and Edyff nodded.

 

“What would you do to save your son?” Ivar lifted his hand to touch the boy who was sleeping and for the first time the woman looked terrified with his proximity. He laughed as he dropped his hand to his lap and started glaring at her.

 

Edyff was surprised by his question. _Is it possible to negotiate my son’s life? What does he want from me?_

 

“I would do anything,” Edyff narrowed her eyes, thinking about what could attract his interest, “My brother could offer you a summon of gold for my son…” She was talking fast, and Ivar smiled at her eagerness to convince him.

 

“I do not need your brother’s gold when I can take it by myself,” Ivar uttered with a snicker. He was satisfied, watching her hands trembling as she held the baby, “ _I_ can offer you something instead of you giving me something.” Ivar bit his lip, amused with the confusion on her face.

 

“I do not understand…” her features darkened by a new thought, “D-do you… want to take me to your bed?” she stuttered the words and Ivar hissed back.

 

“If I wanted to take you, I would be between your legs, stupid woman…” Edyff blinked and Ivar started breathing slowly to regain control.

 

“I want your child. He is an heir to a kingdom and having him under my… protection is an advantage."

 

Ivar’s perfect, sharp teeth gleamed menacingly as he smiled and Edyff noticed the mischief in his eyes.

 

"It will make your people more compliant to accept us as their rightful leaders. What is the baby’s name? I cannot keep talking about him as baby, can I?” Ivar lifted his chin, gesturing to the boy who started squirming.

 

“His name is Edwin.” She replied, trying to soothe the baby not to attract Ivar’s fury.

 

“Edwin.” he lowered his head to the boy who opened his blue eyes and glanced back. Ivar started rocking his head slowly from side to side like a bull preparing to charge.

 

“I do not like this name,” His jaw was clenching and Edyff felt her heart skipping a beat. She was terrified he would change his mind about keeping the baby alive.

 

“His name will be Sigtrygg for he witnessed a glorious day of my life and he will help me to achieve more victories.”

 

“Ivar?” Ubbe shouted and Ivar looked over his shoulder to find his brother looking disturbed. Ubbe glanced from Ivar to Edyff. Ivar chuckled, seeing his brother panting.

 

“I found a treasure in this church, brother. Come, meet Sigtrygg and Edyff!” Ivar pointed to them and Ubbe frowned, “We will keep them…” Ivar smiled at Edyff, “for now.”


	2. The Battle For York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write this story as an one shot, but my mind keeps going to Edyff and she won't leave alone until I write more. Hahahaha.
> 
> In this chapter I cover the battle of York that happened in the third episode.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As the months pass, I start losing hope someone will come to our aid. Ivar orders the reinforcement of the city’s defensive walls and I see he has no intention to leave Jorvik, as he now calls the city.

 

My brother probably believes us dead. Ivar had ordered me to sleep in the same bed with him, but he have never attempted to rape me. Differently from his brother, Hvitserk, who is always lurking in search of a new slave to satisfy his urges. As soon as Ivar noticed Hvitserk glancing at me, he made his claim clear. I still can recall his words.

 

“Keep your prick inside of your trousers around Edyff, Hvitserk.”

 

I know Ivar does not care about my safety or comfort. Ivar only cares about keeping his hostages valuable and assert his dominance over us

 

One night, Edwin is crying with cramps and I am desperately trying to soothe him. I am terrified Ivar will wake up and do something terrible against my baby. When Ivar starts grunting I bring Edwin’s mouth to my breast as a way to muffle his pained screams. It does not stop Ivar from sitting on the bed to look at us in the opposite corner of the room.

 

“What is happening? Is he in pain?” Ivar rubs his eyes and I wonder what he will do next. The way his lips are tightly pressed together makes my sweaty hands tremble.

 

“I am sorry to disturb you, Prince Ivar. I think he has cramps. I will go to the corridor to allow you to sleep.” I walk to the door, breaking eye contact with Ivar as if it would prevent him from seeing us.

 

“Nonsense. Give him to me!” His voice is as soft as his features, but I have learned that it is not wise to believe his serenity. It never seems to last. My hesitation seems to infuriate him more than the baby’s cry.

 

“Remove your breast from his mouth, woman. He is clearly displeased.”

 

Even in the darkness I can see his nostrils are flaring and I gulp, pulling Edwin away from my bosom. I see Ivar grinning and I cover myself.

 

“Come Sigtrygg. Father will help you.” Ivar purrs, holding out a reassuring hand.

 

When I hear him whispering those words to my baby I want to scream he is not his father.

 

_Burgred is his father._

 

It does not matter if he is dead. But I must bite my tongue in hope one day we will have justice.

 

“You do not have to waste your time with Edwin…” He glares at me, hissing through clenched teeth.

 

“His name is Sigtrygg and I will not ask again…” I swallow hard, seeing Ivar stretching his arms to catch Edwin, “Give me the boy. I know how to ease his pain.”

 

His words cause my mind to play out the darkest of the scenarios and I silently pray that God will protect Edwin. My legs never felt so heavy as I walk the small distance until I am in front of Ivar. It seems my ankles are chained and in fact I have nowhere to go.

 

I look into Ivar’s eyes to see any sign of mischief, but surprisingly there is none. I place Edwin in his arms feeling my heart beating fast. He cradles the baby in his left arm with unexpected gentleness. With his free hand, Ivar massages the baby’s belly in little circles. Edwin stops squealing after a few moments as Ivar whispers words I cannot understand.

 

It hurts me that my son is finding comfort in the arms of the man responsible for his father’s death. It should be Burgred holding and whispering to our baby during the night. Hot tears run down my cheeks as I let out the breath I have been holding. Burgred is not here anymore and I can only count on myself to keep Edwin alive and dream of an escape.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The giant Norseman from Ivar’s personal guard is looking at me from head to toe.

 

“Is this really necessary? I have no intention to flee with a baby during a battle, Prince Ivar.”

 

I feel a lump in my throat as I wait for Ivar’s reply.

 

“It is necessary…” Ivar grins and tilts his head to the side, “for your protection.”

 

He laughs seeing my lips trembling and I have no other option but to follow the giant to Ivar’s chambers. As soon as I enter, I hear the door being locked and I have to sit on the bed and pray for salvation.

 

I wait until the sun cast its golden rays from between the clouds, turning them bright red as the blood I imagine painting the city walls and ground.

 

The door is unlocked and Ivar crawls inside. His face is covered in blood, making his icy blue eyes stand out. He smiles broadly, showing his perfect set of straight white teeth.

 

“We won, Sigtrygg. The city is still ours.”

 

He crawls in our direction and I force a smile on my lips as not to change his rare peaceful temper.

 

He sits at my feet, stretching his arms to take Edwin when he notices his dirty hands, “I must wash my hands.”

 

He crawls to a basin to clean and I let out a breath I did not know I have been holding. I close my eyes hoping that the carnage he was involved had satisfied his hunger and that he will not harm my child.

 

The sound of Ivar clearing his throat awakes me from my trance and I must hand him the baby. His fingers trace the line of Edwin’s cheeks and my son is more responsive as he is growing fast. Edwin lifts his hand wrapping Ivar's thumb, making him laugh.

 

“Yes, little one. You have a firm grip. You will be soon swinging a sword, hmm?”

 

I smile, watching the affection he is showing to Edwin. Listening to Ivar mentioning my son’s future is a relief. A _brief_ relief. I gasp, thinking about my son holding a sword against his enemies. I just do not know who they will turn to be. Saxons or Norsemen? I wonder if it will matter to me which side he will pick as long as he is alive and happy.


	3. Betrayal and Hope

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Edwin does not want to stay in my lap or arms for long. He squirms to break free and is always crawling everywhere. I am constantly terrified Ivar will lose his patience and hurt my son.

 

From time to time, I find Ivar chasing Edwin and vice versa. I am satisfied to hear his laughter, but it is a bittersweet happiness for he is laughing at the man that destroyed our lives.

 

One morning Ivar is awakened by the news that his brothers disappeared during the night to meet King Aethelwulf. His fury does not compare to anything that I have ever seen. He throw things everywhere and I try to keep Edwin out of his sight, but he orders this giant bodyguard to bring us to his presence. I have a dagger hidden in my sleeve in case he attempts to hurt my son. I know I will be killed as soon as I murder him, but I pray his men will have mercy on my baby if I have to take this desperate path.

 

I am standing in front of Ivar and Edwin is grunting and squirming, trying to jump from my arms.

 

Ivar yells, “Let him be, woman.”

 

I feel shrivers down my spine as I kneel to place Edwin on the ground. As soon as I do this, Ivar grins at me.

 

“You would not betray me, Sigtrygg. Come with Fađir.”

 

Ivar is sitting on a chair and his eyes are swollen by what I suppose it was crying. He stretches his arms to my son and I gasp when Edwin chuckles, rising to his feet. Such a special moment being witnessed by the man that deprived Burgred to watch our son grow.

 

Edwin gives three steps before his fall. He starts crying and before I can reach him, Ivar lifts his hand to stop me. I watch powerless as he crawls to my son with a smirk.

 

He sits, opening his arms to embrace my child. Edwin sniffs, rising to his feet one more time.

 

“That is my son. Come with Fađir. A true Viking does not cry.”

 

Ivar encourages him, and I want to shout my son is not a Viking, much less his son. But it seems he won another battle against me as my son embraces him, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Ivar raises his eyebrows, giving me a smirk.

 

“Your uncles are weak and betrayed me. You are the only one I can trust. You would never sneak out in the middle of the night. My ideas worked three times by now and yet... they do not respect me, Sigtrygg. They do not see...”

 

Ivar looks up at me, “Go! I want to talk to Sigtrygg alone. I will call you if we need.”

 

My jaw drops, and I stutter, trying to reason with him.

 

“But you are an important man... y-you have decisions and plans to make.” I whisper, looking down at Edwin who is playing with Ivar's arm ring.

 

“Enough. You can go now. Sigtrygg does not need you.” Ivar hisses through clenched teeth and I walk out with my hands sweating and trembling.

 

I glance over my shoulder one last time. Edwin is trying to climb Ivar's back. I can no longer hold back the tears streaming down my face. I press my back tight against the wall and sit, drawing my knees up to partially hide my face.

 

I wonder why God kept me alive. I cannot see his purpose. In this moment I think God is another bored man playing with people's lives. I am trying to listen to any sound that might tell me Edwin is in danger. But there is only whispers and my son's giggles.

 

The bodyguard laughs, watching my despair and I glare at him. He kneels in front of me.

 

“Why do not you find something to make you as happy as your son is...” he takes a strand of my hair between his fingers and chuckles when I slap his hand away from me.

 

“Do not touch me. I am not a whore.” I shout, and he laughs even more.

 

“Do not think Ivar will always be patient with you. One day he will throw you and your son away and it would be advantageous if you had a _special_ friend to protect you...” His voice is husky as he breathes heavily through his teeth. It’s my turn to laugh.

 

“Let me guess...” I lift my chin to show him he is not talking to one of his women, “You would be this special friend, hmm? Would you fight against Ivar to protect us? And the price would be what I have between my legs. I am not naive. Even Ivar's brothers fear him, and I doubt you could do anything if he decides to harm us. I cannot count on anyone but myself to protect my child.” His face is contorted in anger when he grabs my arms, pulling me up.

 

“You will come with me, either you want it or not.” Spit flies from his mouth with the toxic fury. Scorned men are all the same does not matter the place they were born in.

 

“I will not go with you and you cannot force me. If Ivar did not allow his own brother to touch me, what makes you think he will take lightly if you do? If you value your hands, it is better if you do not touch me.”

 

In his eyes I see only cool hatred, but I will not be humiliated by more of those demons than necessary.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ubbe and Hvitserk are back and it seems their attempt to come to an agreement with King Aethelwulf failed miserably. Ubbe is wounded and Hvitserk keeps his eyes cast down to the floor as Ivar takes the chance to claim the leadership of their army. I do not know why, but I feel sorry for them. Not every man has an insatiable bloodlust and I wonder if we could live in peace.

 

Ivar usually threatens everyone with a soft voice, but hearing him screaming at his brothers makes my blood run cold. Edwin pouts and starts crying and Ivar glares at us. I turn to leave, but he presses his lips together as a warning and I rock my baby back and forth, trying to comfort him. Ivar’s voice is back to his honeyed tone that does not elude me that his mind is in peace.

 

_He does not seek peace._

 

“You showed yourself to be weak. You two are luck to be alive.” He tilts his head, glaring at his brothers as if their humiliation pleases him.

 

“And now it is finally time for you to recognize me as the rightful leader of the Great Army.”

 

I can see the way his older brother looks terrified with Ivar’s statement. It is like he is seeing his brother’s ambition for the first time. He gave Ivar the perfect opportunity to show his skills can lead their people to victory, instead of the shame and defeat that must be hurting far more than the wounds on Ubbe’s face. He stands up and Ivar’s bodyguards are quickly in front of him to deny access to Ivar.

 

“As your older brother...” Ubbe faces one of the man and I am afraid I will witness more bloodshed. Fortunately, the man knows better and steps aside, allowing Ubbe to get closer to Ivar.

 

“As your older brother, I will never… ever accept that.”

 

Ivar sighs like he is disappointed with Ubbe’s resistance, but his sadness fades when he cocks his head and grunts. His smile is wicked, but I see past his façade of irony. He is hurt that his brother does not see his value.

 

“In any case it would be a dereliction of duty and after all does not somebody have to be responsible for the care of our people?” Ubbe turns to address the crowd of warriors that were there not to listen to him, but to mock. Ivar moans in annoyance.

 

“It does not seem to me that you have taken good care of them so far.” Ivar’s nostrils are flaring, and I ask myself if something could stop him from killing another brother.

 

Ubbe’s face darkens with the realization that Ivar is right. He took a great risk going to King Aethelwulf. He turns to face Ivar, “You cannot think…” He stops when Ivar does not pay attention to him as he choses to whisper to one of his warriors, “Ivar.”

 

Ubbe hisses repeatedly until his patience is over and he shouts, “IVAR!” Edwin starts crying again and I search for Ivar’s eyes to ask for permission to leave. But as soon as I see the way he looks at Ubbe, my mouth is dry.

 

I am sure if he had an axe he would throw it against his brother as I have heard he did before. This man spilled his own blood on the ground and I do not know what prevents him from doing something terrible against my son.

 

He takes a deep breath and I cannot avoid watching the way his jaw is clenching. Ubbe looks as horrified as I am. I am sure the memories of the corpse of their brother is haunting him.

 

“You cannot continue to fight in England without Hvitserk and me.” Ubbe whispers and Ivar chuckles.

 

I wonder if Ivar notices Ubbe is involving their always quiet brother in his threat and does not believe Hvitserk agrees with Ubbe’s ideas for their people.

 

Ivar grins, “I think that you will find that more of our warriors and shield-maidens want to fight with me than go farm with you two.”

 

I look around, studying the faces and hearing the murmurs.

 

“Right?” Ivar raises his voice and Ubbe is shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his face betraying his obvious discomfort.

 

I feel a knot in my throat as I see this man standing alone for what he believes it is the right thing. I should feel victorious that I am not the only one without a voice here, but I cannot find pleasure in his disgrace.

 

“Then Hvitserk and I will go back to Kattegat tomorrow with our forces.”

 

I feel the hair on the back of my neck standing in alarm. I doubt their brother is satisfied with Ubbe making decisions without consulting him first. All men are proud. That is something any woman can testify.

 

Ivar purses his lips in mockery, “If that is your decision.”

 

It seems to me Ubbe is broken that Ivar does not seem to care enough to have him around anymore. He bows his head slightly and turns on his heels with Hvitserk following him closely. Ubbe stops and turns to face Ivar one last time. He shakes his head.

 

“Our father… our father would have hated you for sundering and splitting his family.” He points his finger to Ivar.

 

“I don’t think so.” Ivar wrinkles his nose and smile as he finishes humiliating his brothers in front of everyone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

I am carrying a sleeping Edwin in my arms and I cannot wait to reach Ivar’s quarters and find some solace after all the tension from the day. A strong hand grips my waist and before I can scream, another calloused hand is clasped over my mouth. I am dragged to a corner. The hot breath in my ear makes my heartbeat slow down.

 

“It is me, Ubbe. Do not scream! I will not hurt you.” He releases me, and I turn to look at him.

 

“What do you want?” I narrow my eyes and if Ubbe is hurt by my distrust, he does not give a hint.

 

“Come with me! Ivar is not trustworthy.” He looks around as if he is afraid we will get caught.

 

“I cannot go with you. Do you really think Ivar would allow it?” Ubbe smiles sadly at me because he knows I am right.

 

“He would allow you to come. Your son is the valuable hostage. Not you.” Ubbe insists and I find his behavior unacceptable. _Is he really implying that I should leave my son behind?_

 

“I do not think you can understand the love between a mother and her son. I would never abandon my child with your brother. If there is a chance… only one that I will save my child, I will take it gladly and without looking back."

 

Ubbe smiles at my baby and lifts his hand to caress his forehead.

 

“You are wrong. I understand the love between a mother and her children.” He looks down for a moment and I see a tear running down his cheek, “I hope you do not regret your decision.” He walks away, and I feel it will be the last time I see this man.


	4. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final part of this story. I must say that I'm truly grateful for the support I found for another of my crazy ideas. Only amazing people. Thank you so much. ^^
> 
> The land Ivar is refering to is Ireland.

 

 

Edwin is more confident in his steps and I must be extra careful to keep him away from trouble. He insists in following Ivar everywhere, including the blacksmith who designed the cane Ivar wears to walk. Ivar seems amused that Edwin is fond of him. I wonder if he has any affection for my child or if it is just a game to torture me.

 

“Do you want to come with Fađir to see the swords, little one?” Ivar leans forward, ruffling Edwin’s hair. He stretches his arms for Ivar to catch him. I notice the shadow that crosses his features as Ivar realizes he is not able to take Edwin in his arms while standing.

 

“Do you think it is a good idea?” Ivar frowns at me with his hands tightening into fists, and I feel my knees weak, “I mean... he is always putting himself in danger and there will be molten metal...” Ivar grunts and rolls his eyes.

 

“He is a smart boy, isn't he? That is why you will be there to prevent him to get hurt, woman. I can’t think of anyone else to look after my son.” He licks his lower lip and I gasp with the realization he sees me as Edwin’s nursemaid instead of his mother.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The heat inside the forge is almost unbearable, but Edwin does not look disturbed. He is enjoying what he must think it is the best game in his short life. Ivar is sharpening his axe on the huge grinding wheel. He keeps his foot on the pedal, pumping up and down to get the wheel to turn while he holds the axe over the stone. The focused look on his face is like he is planning to use the weapon soon. Edwin is giggling seeing the sparks from the clashing of metal.

 

“You will soon be sharpening your own weapons, Sigtrygg. I think you will love it as much as I do.” Ivar pets his hair and Edwin bubbles his first intelligible words.

 

“Fa-Fa...” Ivar gasps, leaning forward to encourage him to continue, “Fađir.”

 

“That's it, my good boy. Such a smart little man.” Ivar takes him to his lap, kissing his forehead. Edwin yawns and Ivar looks up at me, “The little one is exhausted after almost a day of hard work. Take him home.” Ivar smirks and I want to slap the happiness from his face.

 

When I come closer to take Edwin, my son squirms to avoid me. He clings to Ivar's neck. It's a new dagger ripping my heart out of my chest. But this time it's my child hurting me. I try to rationalize that he has been influenced by Ivar who keeps telling Edwin he is his father and giving him whatever he wants, but I only see the pout Edwin is sending my way and I yell, “Enough, Edwin. Come!”

 

It seems the world stops as Ivar glares at me with flushed cheeks that give away how furious he is, “I told you many times his name is Sigtrygg...” his grip in my arms is like iron burning my skin and I feel tears forming behind my eyes, but I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me crying, “Don't test me, woman.” I am sure the only thing preventing Ivar from killing me is Edwin’s cry.

 

Ivar looks at the boy whispering soft words until he calms down.

 

Should I feel less sad that he is calling Ivar Fađir and not Father? I doubt using a different word when he means the same thing can soothe the aching in my heart. In fact, listening to my son using a foreigner language as his own, only adds to my despair that things changed forever and I might not fit into Edwin's future.

 

 

* * *

 

 

I look down at my sleeping son and I cry that for him to be breathing, bathed and fed, I must lose him to my enemy. I feel guilty that his happiness hurts me so deeply. I should be relieved that Ivar seems to like my boy, but I wonder if he is truly capable of loving Edwin enough to value his life beyond the political gain. I think I will never know the answer for the most terrifying question clouding my mind. I am only sure of one thing. I will _never_ call my son by the name Ivar gave him. I prefer calling him by any impersonal tittle or by the one I love the most: _son_. It is the only rebellion I can afford for now and I will hold onto this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The months turn into years and Edwin is almost three now. He is growing so fast and I think one day I will wake up to find a raider looking back at me, instead of the boy I nurtured at my bosom. He follows Ivar everywhere as a shadow, even mimicking his gestures and I cringe whenever he asks Ivar for a story before he goes to bed. It makes me think about Burgred. I am sure he would not speak of bloodthirsty Gods. I am watching my son slipping through my fingers every day and there is nothing I can do to prevent this if I stay here. I try to lecture him in Christian faith in secret, but asking a child to hide something is a task destined to failure.

 

“How dare you talk about your God with my son?” His thick brows drawing closer together as Ivar speaks, “Did you think he wouldn’t talk to me about the lies you have been telling him, hmm?” He asks dryly, his lips curled in a snarl as he shakes his head.

 

I can see Hvitserk drawing shallow breaths as he takes Edwin with him to the training yard. I am grateful he is worried about my son watching our discussion.

 

“I just want him to know the people that will be under his rule one day. Is it not your intention to make him King in your behalf one day? I thought it would be wise that he knows his subjects’ beliefs.” Ivar narrows his eyes, moving closer to me. I press my lips together not to show how frightened I am.

 

“Don’t think I’m easily fooled by a pretty face as my brother Hvitserk is. I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you…” He hisses through clenched teeth and I refuse to avoid his eyes. I am not afraid to stare into the abyss. God is with me.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ivar's army has been winning and losing some battles, but I do not feel like one day he will be expelled from my homeland. I am a foreigner walking down the streets I do not recognize anymore. It seems Ivar is a different man too. As he gets older, it seems he is bored of the constant fight against the Christian Kings.

 

“Would you like to sail to a new land, Sigtrygg? I have heard about a land whose fields are as green as here. They have magical beings and you would see the ocean for the first time.” Ivar suggests during a dinner and I search for his eyes desperately. I want to convince myself that he is not serious, but the way his eyes shine as he looks at Edwin tells me that he intends to leave York.

 

“I want to go, Fađir. We will see Ran’s daughters and the faeries _Móðir_ talks about.” Edwin leaves his chair and climb onto Ivar's lap.

 

Hvitserk grins at me and I frown, “Would not be better if he stayed behind with Hvitserk to secure your position here?” I whisper to Ivar and Edwin looks at me with pleading eyes.

 

“ _Móðir_ , please. I want to go with Fađir on an adventure.” He pouts and Ivar laughs.

 

“Who are you to question his decision? He will be King after me...” Ivar glares at me and I interrupt, feeling suddenly daring.

 

“I am his mother. A worried mother. He is so little to sail. We know not every ship reaches its destination.” Ivar smirks and I fear whatever he is thinking.

 

“Are you afraid for his safety and that is understandable. That's why we will make a sacrifice to ask for a safe journey. Would you offer yourself?” He grins at me and I see Edwin’s eyes widening.

 

“No, Fađir. _Móðir_ must go with us. Please.” Tears are forming behind my eyes, clouding my sight while my son is pleading for my life. Ivar stops smiling and lean forward to kiss Edwin’s forehead.

 

“It would be a waste.” Hvitserk shrugs, looking up and down at me and I lift my chin to show he is not entitled to have any hope about me sharing his bed.

 

“Your mother does not want to go with us, Sigtrygg. She would give her life without hesitation for your happiness. Wouldn't you, Edyff?” My mind is spinning, and I realize I am not afraid to die. My only fear is that my son will not be taken care of. I have been dead since they invaded York. I have been a shadow walking through time whose only purpose is to keep Edwin alive.

 

“I would kill and die for my son. If that is the price for you to protect him as your own blood and honor, I will not tremble before the blade.” I look deep in his eyes and Ivar smiles at me.

 

“She could stay with me, brother.” Hvitserk offers and I shake my head.

 

“I will not be throw from a man to another as a piece of meat.” Hvitserk’s jaw drops and Ivar laughs.

 

“I would not expect less from my child’s mother. Take Sigtrygg with you, Hvitserk. I must talk to Edyff.” Ivar hugs my son and Edwin comes closer to give me a kiss. I embrace him tight against my heart for I feel like my time with him is almost over. I feel dampness against my neck and my arms tighten around my boy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

I see the crowd gathered to witness the ceremony. Their shouts and murmurs do not reach my ears as my eyes can only see my son standing next to Hvitserk. He is looking down and my heart aches for him. I am torn between desiring that he will forget the scenes that will happen and my selfish need that he will remember me and how much I loved him. As he grows I hope he does not doubt my love at least. Many will see my decision as noble and desperate, but I feel I am thinking about me for the first time. _I will not die in a strange land._

 

I cannot curse Ivar with my last breath because my son’s destiny is attached to Ivar’s victory. I part from my cage with flashbacks of memories I wish had happened. My son playing with his true father, following me to the Mass, sitting on his father’s throne after Burgred. I smile when Ivar’s shadow covers me.

 

“Will you tell him how much I loved him? Every man must know this.” I whisper when Ivar inclines his head towards me.

 

He nods in agreement and I close my eyes, feeling the blade and embracing the darkness that will free me.


End file.
